Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
by In Pieces
Summary: AU for DMC4: SE. Vergil's trip to Fortuna left more than what he bargained for. VergilxOC.
1. Chapter 1

_**This will contain spoilers from Vergil's opening, so I highly recommend that you check it out if you haven't already.**_

* * *

The sun shone brightly in the streets of Fortuna, emanating a pleasant heat that erased the memory of the cold January air . It had stopped snowing since the last week of December, and slowly but surely the weather was beginning to fade back to its old warm tunes.

The religious ceremony had finished at noon, and even if I attended quite often, the concept of it still seemed odd to me. The statue of Sparda was still on its finishing stages, but the town didn't mind and continued to attend. The stories we were told day after day seemed spectacular, and perhaps a tad too polished to be true. I had a hard time recognizing how a demon, a creature that we were taught to fear since we were children, managed to fight for the human race; still, I attended punctually out of curiosity rather than faith.

I nonchalantly wandered the streets that were empty a few minutes ago and that now were beginning to cluster with people that came from the cathedral. The air carried away the salty smell of the sea, bringing with it a mirage of coldness.

There was nothing odd in the streets; the same faces walked down the road at a slow pace, stopping here and there to chat lightly with one another as others went down the roads that lead to their respective homes. That's when I saw it.

There was nothing remarkable in the stranger's clothes, his hooded attire symbolized the respect that every citizen gave to the holy land at the same time that it would protect him from the numbing cold at sunset, but I couldn't overlook the fact that he was going on the opposite direction of everyone. Being a highly religious town, everything in Fortuna made a momentary halt in order to attend the religious services, and that someone had just decided to arrive after it, was something that I didn't see quite often.

The stranger walked right past me, and I couldn't help but to stare at the source of my piqued curiosity. However, I halted when the small breeze carried by his walk released the metalic smell of fresh blood with an undertone of powdered dirt that only the devils that lurked the outskirts possessed. I stared at the stranger's back, seeing nothing but the brown fabric that covered him from head to toe; he wasn't part of the newly created Order, that was evident by his attire, so who was he? I kept looking, hoping to see anything from his clothing that would give me a clue. I didn't expect him to slow down and look back from over his shoulder.

I haven´t felt that pang of both fear and embarrassment in a long a time, the one that hurts like an electric bolt that travels all over your body and leaves a trail of cold surrounding you whole. All I could see about his factions was the white porcelain of his skin poking from the clothing before I turned back towards the road, picking up my pace slightly and hoping that my prying had gone unnoticed as I hung my head low. I was well-aware that the chances that he didn't catch me staring were close to none.

I soon forgot about him when I arrived home. My concern of hearing heavy footsteps behind me turned into nothing more but a fragment of my imagination when I locked the door hastily behind me.

* * *

The town had never looked so alive until today. We have been called early to the cathedral to pay our respects, and it surprised me to see the whole interior filled with red roses. Beside every single row, a small bouquet was placed, enchanting the location with the sweet perfume of the flowers. On the unfinished statue, rose petals were scattered across the bottom and the partially constructed side of Sparda's face, giving the unfinished piece a macabre yet beautiful sight.

Somehow, I believed that the roses were blood because blood was passion and passion was love, and we were the children of the spilt blood that Sparda had passionately fought for, and the love he gave was the one he would receive.

I frowned at my musings, aware that my perception had been carried away and I was slowly letting this prospect consume me. I was well-aware that my thoughts had been exaggerated, and perhaps all they wanted to do was to make the cathedral smell and look better. I almost laughed at my foolishness.

Soon, the throng of people that came from their homes filled the room, polluting the delicate scent with their own perfumes and odors. The air became heavy, and the scent of the roses became a note in the air for the stuffy heat.

Both of the doors were opened completely, and the air lightened as more people entered and took their seats, bringing in gusts of wind with them. It didn't surprise me that so many were eager to sit in the front rows, and some others had gone as far as to stand at the sides of the rows. They expected this to be majestic, and wanted to feel the closer to Sparda as they could.

I kept my gaze up front, shifting my eyes from right to left to see how the crowd was acting as the elders stepped into the front rows, waiting that a knight in shining armor gave them a seat. And of course they did, and they sat down in their comfortable seats that had been guilt ridden, and the ones that had been sitting had to leave to other rows lest good seats were no longer available. The middle rows started to fill, but I didn't mind being at the last rows, not at all. I could see clearly and move freely, and that was more than enough.

It didn't took long for the cathedral to fill and for me to wonder where so many people had come from on this specific day, and soon it was full of familiar faces awaiting the grand start. And when it did begin, the soothing voice of His Holiness filled the room.

He said this was a milestone, a celebration of Sparda's grandeur, of his courage and our salvation. How, thanks to him, we were able to survive as a species, and how we should cherish his selfless sacrifice. He beckoned us to pray, and so hundreds of palms were brought together and lowered heads were all that I could see.

I felt a gust of air beside me, and I moved slightly towards my right, allowing however had arrived the opportunity to have a comfortable seat. I glanced at my right, making sure that I still kept a decent distance from the man sitting there, and when I confirmed this, I let my eyes wander to the opposite direction, curious to see who had been so tardy to the grandiose event.

I recognized the attire of the man and quickly looked in front of me, trying to concentrate on His Holiness' words. He was the stranger, the same man that I had deemed so interesting back on the street, but now that he was right beside me and the smell of roses was so pungent that I couldn't identify his own, he made me feel uneasy. It must've been a coincidence that he had sat here, because the majority of seats were taken and of course he wanted to sit down and enjoy the show.

Still, I couldn't shake off that sinking feeling on the bottom of the stomach that felt like it was weighting me down on the seat. I wish that saying that I was unable to listen to His Holiness' words was an exaggeration, but it wasn't. The stranger didn't pray, or kneel or bow his head when everyone did; he just observed how the situation was unfolding, how real this was and perhaps how crazy the situation seemed to him as an outsider.

Not even the sweet voices of the girls of the choir that filled the space with gentle notes were able to contain the strange feeling that dwelled inside of me. I didn't know whether it was fear that he might recognize me for yesterday's happenstance or plain shame. Either way, all I wanted to do was get out of there as swiftly as possible, avoiding any kind of confrontation. But, the fact that he was the one sitting at the edge of the bench, just beside the hallway, would give me no choice but to pass right in front of him. Going the other way around would be ridiculous, and I would waste several minutes walking down the series of benches before arriving at the hallway that lead to the door.

The end of the canticles signaled that the ceremony was over and, as soon as the girls started to scatter, I got on my feet and turned towards the hallway, determined to get out of there quickly.

"Sit."

I halted and turned towards the direction of the stranger. His tone had been strong, commanding. There was a certain coldness in his voice that made me think twice about ignoring him and, as everyone slowly rose to their seats and walked towards the exit, I sat down.

He didn't look at me through the whole ordeal, not even once, and that scared me the most. He made me feel frail just by his mere voice and presence, and I wasn't content with the outcome, not at all, especially when the cathedral started to become empty.

My heart was pounding erratically, and my nervousness made me felt cold sweat on the sides of my face. When the last members of the Order left , I mustered enough courage to look up. This was normal for them, to see people left behind to give their silent prayers in peace. To their eyes we were nothing but believers praising the Legendary Dark Knight.

Only then, the stranger turned slightly towards me; just his nose and part of his lips managed to see the light from under his hood. "How much do you know about the Order of the Sword?"

"Only what they've been telling us for the last couple of years."

"That will suffice." He stood up, and I only stared. His boots echoed through the empty building as he walked towards the exit. He came to a halt and glanced at me from over his shoulder, and that was my cue to rise from my seat and follow him.

* * *

Our conversations were awkward and forced. Most of the time I did the talking, and he listened attentively. More often than not he would keep a neutral expression; he frowned here and there, and only a couple of times I saw the traces of a smirk on his lips. Still, he seemed genuinely curious about what the Order had to offer, and I found myself wondering why he had reached out to me instead of one of them.

"The perception changes from the preacher to the believer," He said. "I want to know how delusional your insights are."

I didn't know how to handle that comment, so I just stared at him, frowning. "I don't believe in what they say. I attend as a listener, not as a believer. Everything they say is a satire."

I saw the corner of his mouth twitch into a smirk.

* * *

I didn't like Vergil's ending in DMC4: SE, this is the result of that. :p

In case you're wondering, the story will be a two-shot -or perhaps it'll have three parts, it all depends on how lengthy it turns out once I wrap it up-.

Thank you for reading!

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and its characters belong to Capcom.


	2. Chapter 2

Vergil was sitting in the brown leather armchair by the window. The sun rays filtered through the curtains, bringing light to the pages of the book he was reading. He'd requested any reading the Order had provided us with, so I gave him the book with the red cover and the logo of the Order in gold on the spine.

A couple of weeks had passed since the first time we spoke, and we had come to a silent agreement of sorts. He deemed me a conduit to obtain the information and material he needed while staying off the grid and, since my skepticism lead me to do research on my own, I proved to be a source of information for his unknown quest.

I found his ways intricate, bordering on eccentric. Up to this day I didn't know what he was looking for, what his purpose was in Fortuna, or why he worked in the shadows to obtain what he wanted. The prospect that he was dangerous crossed my mind multiple times, but at this point I was in too deep to refuse anything he requested.

There was something odd about his presence; when I was close to him I felt that the atmosphere was charged with something unknown, and I came to realize –perhaps too late- that what he had silently agreed on in exchange for my obedience was simply to satisfy my curiosity about him. The worst part is that I believed this was an equivalent exchange.

He stood up from his position and walked towards the bookshelf. His eyes scanned the titles on the spines and, after a moment of consideration, he took a book and examined the yellowing pages.

I diverted my attention from him to the window on my right, and with a flick of my wrist I moved the curtains to see clearly. The street was empty as far as I could tell, and the only things ornamenting it were the shadows of the buildings.

A woman passed by the street, running with all her might as she looked back. Feeling curious, I tried to look to the end of the street, but only saw a couple that followed the woman's actions. Frowning, I tried to catch a glimpse of where they were running off to, but all I could see was the empty intersection where there was no trace of their whereabouts.

Suddenly, a cracking sound made me jump back in surprise from my spot, making me hit my lower back with one of the chairs behind me. The window that I was looking trough had been cracked and, from the unclear edges of the blow, I could see a patchy demon with its bladed hand ready to strike again.

I felt stunned as I left the kitchen in a hurry, wincing at the high pitched sound the window made when the blade collided with it and the shards scattered all over the floor.

"Vergil!" I called out when I saw that, instead of reading, he had stepped outside towards the danger, leaving his hooded attire in the armchair. Thinking he was suicidal, I ran towards the door and froze once I saw what was happening outside.

Vergil looked different. He had an aristocratic air about him, something that screamed loyalty instead of a commoner. Perhaps it was the intricate designs on his coat or the way he walked slowly with his back perfectly straight and with his gaze ahead. I had been so mesmerized by his appearance that I failed to realize that, in his left hand, he held the scabbard of a blade.

There were at least a dozen demons in the streets whose attention was captured immediately by the man in the blue coat that decided to defy their presence. Some of the patchy creatures lunged at him, ready to strike him with its bladed legs or arms but, in the blink of an eye, Vergil had doubled the distance between them. It had happened to fast that my mind couldn't comprehend what was happening, and even less when the sunlight bounced off his unsheathed blade and the creatures disappeared into a cloud of dirt and smoke.

Seeing him fight was like watching a complicated choreography. His moves were smooth and calculated, and the way he fought made it seem effortless. One by one, the remaining creatures disappeared from the streets, and before I could comprehend what had happened, the streets were empty, and the sole survivor in the blue coat had already sheltered his weapon.

Vergil started to stride towards the door, and a few meters before he reached it, a rogue demon leaped into the air with the intention of hurting him. However, the creature was stopped mid-flight; his body had been propelled backwards into the wall as a single ghostly blue blade that appeared out of thin air pierced its head and made it disappear in a cloud, just like the others.

I wasn't aware that I was holding my breath, but when I exhaled, it came out shaky, mimicking the way my body was reacting to the scene that had unfolded before me. For a brief second I thought about shutting the door and locking myself in, but when Vergil was close enough, I stepped aside to let him in.

"What are you?" My voice was just a mere whisper.

"What your people have been venerating."

I didn't know what to say, so I just stared. And the longer I did and the times we've talking started to flash on my mind, the more vulnerable and scared I felt. By now, I could feel my heart beating in my throat, making my breathing ragged. Vergil looked back and slowly walked towards me, stopping at a close distance from where I was standing.

"If I had the intention of hurting you, I would've done so the first time you laid eyes on me, girl."

* * *

Thank you for reading! 

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and its characters belong to Capcom.


	3. Chapter 3

After my last encounter with Vergil I felt oblivious and bigoted, like I should've known better than that, even if there was no possible way for me to change my mentality over nothing.

And perhaps this was my redemption, because even if the rain was soaking me to the bone and the probability that I was going to get sick was high, I kept walking with my head low. I held the book close to my chest, every once in a while fixing the plastic bag where it was contained so it wouldn't get wet.

The book I held in my hands wasn't expensive by any means, but it had been a pain to find in the hundreds of piles of books buried deep within the library. All I had was a notion, and the task of finding that specific topic in a sea of nameless covers had been extremely time-consuming, bordering on irksome, but the thirst of knowledge gnawed the back of my mind restlessly and, since my curiosity had been piqued, I could do nothing but satisfy that urge.

When I arrived home the clouds above had become darker, almost rendering the street lights useless. I shivered almost instantly, craving the warmth that was nowhere in the house before changing my attire to something dry. Even if that petty task didn't take more than a few minutes to realize, I felt anxious, eager to unfold what the book contained.

I took a seat in the kitchen table, glancing feebly at the window that had been broken the other day. This one was different, and I resisted the urge to close the binds to stop looking at it because the way the drops of water stuck into the surface and raced into the floor provided a soothing sight, even if I wasn't going to pay attention to it now.

The leather-bound book was worse for wear, and the once vibrant coloration of it had been watered down to a pale brown. The corners of the book were bent, and I felt that the pages could crumble with my touch if I applied too much pressure to the paper. Nonetheless, this was a relic hidden among the rubble, and even if I had to squint my eyes to look at the fading words on the yellowing pages, the content was enthralling. The once vivid drawings had faded into nothing but a mere trace of pencil, but the figures were still recognizable in the right light. The more I read, the more I felt something in my stomach sink, and the feeling of dread mixed with wonder increased in the atmosphere.

A few minutes from midnight, I closed the book gently and stared at the empty black space in front of me. The smell of the old book filled my nostrils, and for a few seconds I got lost in that smell and in the many tales written in the book. I sighed, feeling a throbbing headache form because the situation had been far too bizarre to be true, and I had a hard time accept that I had made a mistake from the very beginning, and now I was in too deep to look back or change the course of my actions.

Sparda had twin sons with a human, making them receive the title of half-devils. The book didn't say much about them, but rather detailed parts of the Devil's weaponry and doings. What surprised me the most were a claymore styled blade that had a skull and bones that morphed from the blade to the handle, creating a unique and daunting ornament, and a katana, whose black and white handle created a beautiful contrast with its gold ornament and the rich black color of its scabbard.

I doubted I needed something more than that, for I recognized the latter blade in the hand of a certain man in a blue coat.

It was funny how this had turned out to be. As far as I could tell, the Order would worship him as a semi-god, so there was no need for Vergil to be lurking in the shadows. There was still no solid proof that my theory was truth, but the pieces fit together at perfection: Vergil was one of the sons of Sparda.

Did it make a difference about how I felt about him? Indeed.

The answer was completely biased, but how could it not? Sparda was his father, and as his heir he would do the same his father did to mankind, wouldn't he? After all he did get rid of those things that were lurking outside my home, either for the reason I had stated before or for his own. Still, Vergil didn't look like a hero. He didn't fit the fairy tale description that I was accustomed to hear, but my assumptions had been wrong before.

All I knew is that the book I had in my possession could mean something to Vergil. Perhaps this was one of the pieces he was looking for, and when he became aware that it wasn't where it was supposed to be, he would come here to retrieve it.

* * *

The clouds were darker than yesterday, giving an eerie atmosphere to Fortuna. As far as I could see, all the bright buildings had turned grey, mimicking the color of the sky. No soul dared to go outside with this downpour, deeming that the risk of getting their garments wet was not worth it, not when the water on the streets kept running like a river and the sky's cries were loud and heavy.

I prepared a cup of tea, hoping that its contents would wake my body from its idle state induced by the rain. I had finished half a cup when a knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

With the cup in one hand, I opened the door. It didn't surprise me to see Vergil standing outside. With the rain, his attire looked black instead of brown, so I stepped aside without a word and closed the door once he was in.

"Tea?"

"No." He didn't take off his wet attire. Apparently, the fact that it was dripping into the floor wasn't a good enough reason for him to discard it, probably because his visit was swift. "You have something of my interest, girl."

Of course I did. It must've been the easiest task in the world to find where his book was located.

I took a sip of my tea, noticing how the taste seemed overly dull and the warmth felt like fire as it went down my throat. I placed it aside without hesitating. I didn't know what I was planning to do with this delay; it would be so much easier to give him what he wanted and get over with it, but I felt that this was something that I was entitled to do after all.

"You are one of Sparda's sons, aren't you?"

"I am." The way he had said it made my blood run cold. There was a certain assertiveness in his voice, something that had neither regret nor shame. I had mistaken his previous revelation as something else, something bordering on the infamous, but now I realized how wrong I had been all this time.

"What are you truly looking for, Vergil?" I feared for what he would say next, but I had come too far to overlook everything that had occurred.

"That is none of your concern."

"I believe it is, considering that I have been the one aiding you on your quest, yet you've kept me in the dark." My heart was thumping out of my chest. These had been the first acts of defiance I have ever shown to him, and I could tell that he didn't like it.

The book was on the kitchen table, and the only thing separating him from it was nothing but a small hallway. I tried my best to keep my eyes from drifting over there, yet I knew that he was aware that it was there and that I had been prying, because there was no plausible way for me to conjure up such conclusions otherwise.

"Foolish girl, I thought you were smarter than that." With those words, he walked past me and right into the kitchen, where the object of his desire was located.

"Don't. Please." How pathetic my words must've sounded to him, like the whimpers of a scared mouse that got in the way of a wild cat, but I _was_ scared. I didn't know what he was planning to do with that book or what exactly it meant for him, but I had enough reasons to believe that this wasn't a quest for knowledge, but rather something else. My whole façade had been broken, and there was nothing I could recur to but to plea.

He stopped and glanced at me from over his shoulder. His expression remained unfazed, yet I saw a hint of curiosity in his eyes. He wasn't angry, perhaps not yet, but now it was far obvious that I had placed two and two together and I knew that he was displeased by it.

"What will you do to stop me?" I didn't know if there was real curiosity behind his words or if it was simply a spiteful remark. It didn't really make a difference.

For a moment I seemed to forget who he was –what he was- and the fact that he could be so brutal if he had his mind set to it, but when the images of him killing those demons flashed in my mind I realized that I was playing with something beyond my comprehension, and that nothing good would come out of this if I continued with this game.

Still, I warily took a step towards him, feeling a different kind of fear than the other times before. This went beyond the book, far away from what ifs and unknown intentions. This was a selfish move that echoed deep inside of me. It felt wrong, and a part of me was trying to convince my mind that this was a distraction –a lousy one, at that-, but his words had hit a nerve.

To his eyes I was disposable, a mere joke, and I _ached_ to prove him otherwise.

I knew how dangerous this was, how with a mere flick of his wrist he could end this bluff once and for all, and how incredibly foolish my actions were now, but I was in too deep now. This was a different experience for me, something that went beyond my beliefs and common sense. It was an urgency that resonated deep inside.

I could hear the thump of my heart all the way to my ears, but still, I reached out and gently touched his cheek. He didn't even flinch. This felt like a test, as if he was trying to see how far I was willing to go with this scheme.

I had no weapons to defend myself from him, and even if I did, the task would be impossible. All I had was momentum and the foolish thought that, somehow, this would make a difference. All of this needed to have a weight for him. It had to be worth _something_.

After a moment of hesitation, I pressed my lips against his. He immediately took control as lips moved against mine at his own harsh rhythm, and I knew that this wasn't love, but rather something else for me: it was a dash of admiration, a mite of naiveté, and the foolish thought of proving that I was valuable.

He was still a mystery, something incomprehensible that I couldn't seem to crack, not even when his hands were touching my bare skin and his body fit perfectly with mine.

In the end, he took what he wanted, and so did I.

* * *

I apologize for the lack of updates, I was stuck with a certain part of this chapter and just couldn't move on. I'm still not quite happy with the end result, but this is as good as it could get (writing connected one shots instead of normal chapters can be _oh so_ _charming)_. I promise I won't take too long to upload the final part.

Thank you for reading!

Disclaimer: Devil May Cry and its characters belong to Capcom.


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